


The Piece that Holds the Puzzle's End

by rivers_bend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean never should have said the guy had a "sissy" wand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Piece that Holds the Puzzle's End

As Sam hears the door to the alley slam, he wishes that he'd never, ever, _ever_ made Dean convince Dad that they should be allowed to do a hunt on their own. He wasn't fast enough—still not quite used to his extra-long arms and legs—and Dean got zapped. So here they are, Sam's fault, Sam the only one who can do anything to make it better.

The guy had a magic wand. And a top hat. And a fluffy white rabbit. Made Sam think he was a joke and this would be easy. Unfortunately, the guy also had a way with incantations and a very, very powerful book which Sam wasn't quick enough to grab before he could use it. And that part was on his shoulders. He'd take the blame.

The spell the guy picked, though, Sam is pretty sure Dean gets the blame for that. He never should have said the guy had a "sissy" wand.

Fortunately, Sam has been studying his Latin a lot lately, since the last two schools he's gone to have offered it, so it's been a way of making Dad happy and doing his homework all at once. So, yeah, Dean got whammied, and the guy got away, but Sam could hear what he chanted before he did, and almost without thinking about it, his brain translated: May you burn and may the fire only be quenched with the seed of another.

The guy probably thought Dean was a homophobic asshole or something, hadn't counted on the fact that there was someone right there with seed ready to be spilled wherever Dean wanted it. But Sam's pretty sure they shouldn't do any quenching on the stage of a club that is due to open in about twenty minutes, so somehow he manages to drag his writhing, moaning, hands-down-his-pants brother out to the car, shove him in the back seat, and then drive the half a mile or so it takes to get them from the outskirts to the outside of town. He parks behind a crumbled old farm building, so long gone he can't even tell what it used to be, but standing enough to block them from the road.

When he turns to climb over the seat to get to Dean, he sees that at some point between when Sam last looked in the rearview mirror and now, Dean's managed to get his clothes off and is busy stroking himself nearly raw.

"Jesus, Dean. Stop it!" Sam aims for authoritative, but his voice comes out shaky and cracks on the last word, which hasn't happened in ages. "The seed of _another_," he reminds his brother. "Doing it yourself isn—"

But he doesn't get to finish, because Dean yanks him the rest of the way over the seat to fall between Dean's spread thighs, stomach on Dean's dick, which feels like it's just been filled with boiling water. Sam's chin bumps hard on Dean's sternum and his legs fold uncomfortably up against the door.

"Dean!" he squeaks.

But Dean is chanting, "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," over and over and bucking his hips so his cock rides against Sam's belly, and he's not paying attention.

There is no way this is going to work with Sam still dressed, so he twists and struggles and stretches until he manages to get the door by his knees open so he can tumble out and have some room to move. Dean protests and starts jacking himself again and Sam doesn't think he's ever stripped so fast in his life.

He's scared, because Dean won't listen to him, won't slow down and tell him it's all going to be okay. But Sam isn't a baby anymore. He's gonna be as big as Dean soon, as tall anyway, and he can _do this_. His dick at least isn't scared. It's hard and red and wants him to stop standing around and get back in the car with Dean.

"Okay, it's okay," Sam says as he crawls over Dean's legs.

Usually they do this with Dean on top, propped on one arm, other hand between them wrapped around their dicks, Sam lying there relishing Dean's weight on him, gripping Dean's hair or clutching at his back. Sam feels clumsy trying to find a place for his legs, get his supporting arm between the seat and Dean's ribs, but he manages to line them up, get Dean's restless hands out of the way, get his own hand around them both. He's surprised to find he can reach around enough to keep their dicks together. His hands must be growing too.

And, jesus, Dean's dick is so _hot_. Alarmingly hot. Except it's hard to stay alarmed with Dean's hands gripping his ass and Dean alternating between begging and kissing, so Sam just concentrates on jerking them as best he can.

It takes barely more than a minute before Sam feels his thighs tense and his orgasm bubbling over his fingers, slicking their dicks and Dean's stomach.

Before Sam can say, "Okay, you're okay now," out loud instead of just in his head, Dean's saying, "Fuck, oh, fuck. Didn't work, it's not enough."

Sam gets a vivid image of straddling Dean's hips, lowering himself down on Dean's come-slick, rock-hard cock, feeling it so hot and desperate inside him, and he's breathless with wanting it. "Yeah," he pants, trying to get up on his knees. "Too easy. We prolly need to fuck."

Sam's "seed" did _something_, even if it didn't quench the fire completely, because Dean is with it enough to take Sam's shoulder and help steady him while Sam situates himself with one knee on the seat between Dean's thighs, the other foot on the floor, so he can work himself open on his fingers.

"Not enough," Dean says again, grip tightening on Sam's shoulder.

"I'm trying to hurry." Sam doesn't want this to hurt, but he doesn't want Dean hurting while he has to wait, either.

Dean shakes his head. "No, I mean—" he pauses, fists his dick a few times, panting for air. "Come's not enough. Blessed oil in the trunk. Next to the holy water."

Sam tries to argue that there isn't time, but Dean pulls Sam's hand from between his thighs and shoves him out of the car.

The whole time he's getting the keys from the ignition, getting the trunk open, and then the false floor, Sam can hear Dean whimpering. He only keeps looking for the oil because he remembers how red and sore Dean's cock looked already, and if it isn't slick enough it will hurt Dean just as much as Sam. Maybe more.

Back in the car, Dean is covered in sweat, fists clenched at his sides like he's doing everything in his power to keep them off his dick. Sam tips some oil out onto his palm and breathes deep, trying to get his brain to stop screaming, _hurry, hurry, hurry_ at him. One handed he gets the cork back in the bottle's neck and tosses the bottle onto the back window ledge while he oils Dean's cock with the other. He can do this. He can fix this. Doesn't need Dean to take care of everything.

Dean sighs with Sam's touch and his fists unclench. "You can—" he says. "I'll be okay. You can go slow if you need—" but he trails off on a pained cry, twisting his hips.

Sam can see there is never going to be enough room to get both his knees and the width of Dean's hips on the seat with Dean lying across it like he is. "Sit up," he says, tugging at his brother's shoulder.

Dean blinks at him like he doesn't quite get what that means for a minute, but then helps, pushing himself up and swinging his legs around so he's slouched down, knees up against the front seat, and Sam can climb over and straddle his thighs.

"Careful, careful," Dean is saying, but Sam doesn't want to be careful. He wants Dean to be okay. And, he's not above admitting, he wants to feel all that heat up inside him.

Hovering over Dean's lap, Sam uses his oil-smeared hand to line Dean up and he pushes himself down, breathing slow, trying to do as Dean said, ignoring the voice telling him to just shove and get it over with, instead giving himself time to adjust, open around the push of Dean's cock.

Dean's hands fly up to the ceiling, pressing against it so hard Sam can see the tendons in his brother's wrists. He realizes Dean is trying to keep his ass on the seat, trying to keep from just thrusting into Sam with all his strength. It should scare him maybe, but it's just about the hottest thing Sam has ever seen; it makes him roll his hips in an unconscious quest to get closer, which improves the angle and makes everything just _slide_.

Dean's eyes go wide and he bites his lip, staring at Sam like this is the first time again. Sam rocks, lifts a little, sinks back, and when Dean lowers his arms, puts his hands on Sam's hips, Sam moves his own hand down to his stiffening dick.

They move together, jerky movements smoothing out as they figure out how it's working, and Sam is hard against his palm, eyes slipped shut to better feel Dean hot and hard, filling him up, when Dean says, "This isn't going to work," his voice desperate and strung-out sounding.

"Just let me—" Sam speeds his hand on his dick, trying to take himself over the edge.

"No." Dean stops him. "Need you to fuck me. Come inside me."

And, okay, yeah. That sounds good, too. Really, phenomenally, amazingly good. A little _too_ good. Sam has to grip himself tight, trying not to come before the fucking can happen. Dean has to practically pull Sam off his dick, because Sam is too distracted wondering what it will be like to be inside his brother to do it himself.

It's not like Sam's never thought about it before, but Dean's never actually asked, and Sam is always too happy with whatever they're already doing to remember to suggest it.

"Okay," he says, shifting on the seat where Dean's dumped him, feeling that he's smearing oil on the leather and trying to figure out how this is going to work. He doesn't think Dean will be able to kneel over Sam's lap right now. "How do you want to be?"

Dean usually spoons behind Sam or gets between his spread thighs, but Sam doesn't think there's enough room for that in the back of the car. He can't really picture how it will go being on the other side of the situation.

"All fours," Den says, pushing Sam towards the still-open car door so he can maneuver himself.

The sight of Dean's upturned ass, his cock hanging red and heavy between his parted legs, makes Sam feel a little dizzy. "Move forward," he manages to say, though he's not actually sure how the words come out; his tongue feels too big for his mouth. But Dean moves enough that Sam can fit behind him, hunched over his brother's back, whole body thrumming with the want to be inside him.

He scrabbles for the oil bottle, gets more on his dick, dripping on the seat again, but not even noticing this time. Then, pulling Dean's cheeks apart, he gets his dick up against Dean's hole and starts to push.

"Ow!" Dean says. "Finger first, maybe?"

God. Sam is so _stupid_! He totally forgot that Dean hasn't done this before, that he needs to get him ready before he can— "Sorry," he mumbles, mortified.

"S'okay. Just. Here—" Dean starts to reach back like he's going to do it himself, but Sam intervenes, sliding his own fingers, dripping with oil, between Dean's cheeks.

Dean's hot here, too. Hotter than the other times Sam's touched him here, except maybe the time they'd been out running in the heat and came back to find Dad gone out, and tumbled to the floor, groping, stroking, tugging, before the door had hardly closed behind them. That time Sam had been just as hot though, and it hadn't felt as—shocking as this.

Sam rubs, just stroking the oil onto Dean's skin, feeling the tension let go under his fingertips. "Sorry," he says again, but Dean doesn't answer, just tilts his hips higher, lowering his chest to the seat.

When Sam lets his finger slip inside, Dean shudders, and Sam pulls back, afraid.

"No. No that was good. Felt like it was helping already," Dean says, so Sam pushes back in. Dean spreads wider, dropping one foot into the footwell, and some of the tightness in his back seems to let go, too.

"Another one?" This is so strange, Dean so hot inside, feeling that, but not being able to feel what his fingers are really _doing_. He doesn't know what it's supposed to feel like when Dean's ready.

"Yeah," Dean says, so Sam pushes a second finger in.

It's much tighter, and Dean stiffens up again, but before Sam can change his mind, go back to one, Dean relaxes, wiggles a little. Sam twists, pushes in more, still unsure without the signals from his own body exactly what he's supposed to be doing. He should have paid attention to his fingers and not just his ass the times he'd prepped himself for Dean.

"Ready, just fucking, _fuck_," Dean says while Sam is still contemplating. Sam is scared, but more scared of what will happen to Dean if he has to put up with the burning heat for much longer.

He scoots closer again, pulls his fingers out, and lines up his cock. There is resistance, but nothing like the first time, and focusing on Dean's murmured encouragements, Sam pushes past it, staring at a freckle between Dean's shoulder blades, because if he looks down or concentrates on anything else he's going to _lose_ it before he's got more than the head into his brother.

"'s good, 's good," Dean's saying, and Sam's not sure he believes him, but they have to do this, have to break the spell, and he's almost in, and god, _god_, it's so hot and tight and fucking _Dean_—he's _inside_ Dean, and just—

Sam bottoms out, stays there shaking for just long enough to gasp in one shaking breath, pulls out an inch, maybe not even, thrusts forward again, and then he's coming, flames down his spine, hips jerking, choked-sob noises, _coming_ up inside Dean, his seed quenching his brother's fire, and god, he hopes Dean will let him do this again, because it was _amazing_ and probably the worst sex ever for his brother. But then Dean's coming too, hand flying on his cock, shouting as he jerks himself off Sam's dick and collapses, falling onto the floor.

With nothing holding him up, Sam falls too, onto the seat, hitting his head on the door, but not hard, and he barely notices. "You okay?" he asks, hand moving to stroke Dean's face, down his neck.

"Spell's broken, but I landed on my fucking boot. Gonna look like I let someone kick my ass."

"C'mere," Sam says, moving so Dean can get off the floor, but when Dean is sitting again, it's him who pulls Sam into his arms instead of the other way around.

"_You_ okay?" Dean asked.

"I'm _fine_. I'm not the one who had burning loins or whatever, or whose brother tried to fuck him without—you know." Sam's face is pressed to Dean's neck, so he doesn't have to look at him.

"We're both fine, then." Dean smoothes a hand down Sam's back. And then he tilts up Sam's chin and kisses him.

They don't stop until the sun has gone down and they're both shivering against the evening's chill.

"Make you a deal," Dean says while they're pulling their clothes on over goosebumped and come-flecked skin. "I'll tell dad we didn't get our man if you clean the car."

"Okay," Sam agrees, thinking he got the easy part of the deal. "Then next time Dad goes away, maybe—" Sam concentrates on putting his shoe on, hoping Dean will know what he's asking.

"Maybe we could try that again, in a bed, without any magic?" Dean asks.

"That." Sam answers.


End file.
